


a story in autumn.

by aerisphelia



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Angst, Angst and Feels, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Break Up, F/M, Musician!Reader, Post-Timeskip
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-08
Updated: 2020-12-08
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:20:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27948953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aerisphelia/pseuds/aerisphelia
Summary: It was autumn when you realize, neither of you was in love with the present anymore.⎯'We used to be so happy, so why did we end up like this?' you thought to yourself after Atsumu Miya left, along with his belongings that were no longer inside the house you have lived together for the past two years. Something inside of you growled in distress⎯you wondered how things would change if you stopped lying to yourself all this time.This is a story in autumn, where the leaves fell off the ground deciduously in the middle of November's rain.
Relationships: Miya Atsumu & Miya Osamu, Miya Atsumu/Reader, Semi Eita/Reader
Comments: 5
Kudos: 34





	a story in autumn.

**Author's Note:**

> This story was based on YOASOBI's "Probably" and NIKI's "Sugarplum Elegy". Pardon me for any grammatical errors. For requests/suggestions, please hit me up on Tumblr with @rednezvous!

You held on to the white mug that you would usually use to pour your morning coffee in like it was your lifeline. Your eyes pierced like they could see what is underneath the glistening ceramic, but deep down you knew that is not what all your eyes have seen.

_The memories._

The day where you and Atsumu got matching mugs from your local store; thinking it was cute to give it a go. You said, “ _Hey, I'm taking this one_ ,” and holding the one with blue heart-shaped ornaments on it. He protested and groaned in disagreement because he didn't want to use the pink one. “ _No, it's mine!_ ” He tried to reach out to yours but failed miserably. Eventually, he just gave up with a loosening sigh; he thought your little chuckles of the win were really cute and he would love to keep it in his mind so he can play it whenever he wanted to, like an ‘on repeat’ song.

Now all that’s left is the matching mugs and foggy memories of what you had inside this little building.

_We used to be so happy, so why did we end up like this?_

⎯

Warm. It was warm. But no warmer than summer, or colder than winter. It was just ... warm.

You twitched inside your blanket, trying to grasp the reality you were in from a not-so-peaceful sleep. This has been going on for a year, as long as you can count, from the last time you could drift off serenely to sleep.

Sometimes you wished you never know what peace is, so you could just dwell on trivial things like this for a moment.

You got up, not immediately looking at the window because the sun shined so bright that you feel it could blind you at any moment. _What time is it_ , you wondered, because the house felt a little too big and spacious ... today.

Not only today, though. It has been like this for ...

You sighed. You didn't even remember when was the last time you felt so happy that your breath was taken away inside this building you bought years ago. It was in Shibuya, pretty near to your university since you are enrolled as a graduate student now. The place was quite nice and spacious for living alone, so you decided to take one person to be your housemate; your boyfriend, Atsumu Miya.

Yeah, the hot-shot volleyball player that people know of, the guy with eccentric yellowish hair and a little too tall for his age, the guy with unique Kansai dialect even though he has been in Tokyo for years.

The smell of freshly-baked pancakes awakened your senses back to reality. Intuitively, you brought your legs out from your room, just to be greeted with a silence that sounded too loud inside your ears.

A silence, but it was banging inside your head that you no longer could distinguish what reality you were in.

But this was okay. _This is okay_ , you convinced yourself _because we have always been like this._

 _We were just really busy with everything on our own plates. Shifting priorities, really_ ; you gave yourself another thought to feel at ease. But deep down, in the back of your mind, you knew something had happened.

Atsumu was never a great cook like his brother, but he always loved to try. You smiled a little after seeing a plate of maple pancakes on the table. A sticky note with messy handwriting attached to it saying: “ _I'm leaving early today for practice, make sure you eat a lot. Love you._ ”

It was unbelievable to find him being this sweet, leaving notes and breakfast, at first. But you grew natural of it eventually because he has always been like this. A very spontaneous guy with lots of surprises, a little cheesy sometimes, and that was why you are in love with him.

After a while, you put the plate in the dishwasher, not finding any strength to wash it immediately, and would rather go back into your room. The phone on your nightstand glistened with a familiar ringtone of a phone call.

“Hey, what's up?” You decided to be the first one talking after picking up since you knew this person would not want to reach you first without asking for something.

“Oh, hey, (y/n). Are you busy today?” A familiar voice from another side of the call brought you to some little memories way back when you used to play instruments inside a studio, being so hyped up about getting in line for a concert, the euphoria of showing strangers the love you had for music. It was Eita Semi, your former bandmate back on campus, way before you learned how to play the guitar well.

“No, not really,” you glanced to the calendar on your nightstand, crossing the thirteenth of November as of today's date. “I don't have any schedule for today. What's up?”

“Oh, great!” Eita sounded a little more enthusiastic than before, perceived your answer as good news for him. “Actually,” he cleared his throat before continuing, “I would like to ask if you could come to the studio and play as a support today—our keyboardist apparently got sick since he drank so much last night.” You almost chuckled when you heard the little grunt at the end of his narrative.

You paused for a moment, not fully for a minute, letting yourself think of the pros and cons of agreeing. Today was a great idea since you got nothing to do, your assignments have been submitted way before their deadlines, the systemic reviews of never-ending journals about music— _oh, well_ , they can wait anyways. But the little circle around number 14 on your calendar somehow caught your attention. There was a little note under it, pretty sure it was your handwriting. ‘ _The 2nd big dinner_ ,’ it said.

You grinned, knew that you would agree to his offer anyway. “Okay, text me the address. It’s been years since I got there, remember?”

Eita chortled at your words. “Would definitely do. Oh, also, you need to see how the band grows up now. We are going to release our debut single! Isn’t that great?”

A smile, more beaming than before, came out from you. You found yourself listening to Eita’s bragging about the band for another twenty minutes, but it was worth it. After you left the band, you began to focus more on your studies about music. Music was your life, the only escapism from reality because nobody would do the same for you. Not even Atsumu. Although the preferences of music and sports have always been different for you two, it was never an issue. You enjoyed watching volleyball, even learned about a thing or two about it—and the same goes for Atsumu who has always learned about the piano, classical music. He would always show you his current favorite playlist and let you judge about it for fun. He wouldn't care if you say his tastes are shitty, like the sarcasm escaping your mouth on the first date: “ _This is your favorite song? You have to be glad that you’re cute because your taste in music is really trash_.” He laughed that time, thinking you must have some guts to say that, and replied: “ _Then why don't you tell me yours, maestro?”_

It was _almost_ two years ago. Well, tomorrow would absolutely mark another year of you being together, _the second big dinner_. Last year, you decided to have dinner at home from delivery orders; lots of junk foods, french fries, burgers, and colas—but it was great. The dinner ended with you and him dancing to some waltz songs by yours truly the great Mozart and Chopin—that was your dream come true. Although the dance was not really great because you two were never dancers, but the time spent really well under the sublime moonlight. Then you were struck by an epiphany that you have never loved this guy more than you were before, and you wondered how that feeling might last, almost second-guessing if it was right to feel _so in love_ with someone. But you were _happy_ , he was _happy_ , and that time, nothing other than that mattered.

So now, _almost_ a year later, you were sitting in your car, heading to the studio you used to go to every day with your campus friends back in freshman year—trying to recite back the feelings you had for music, the guitar and keyboard, and your feelings for Atsumu Miya after time passes.

⎯

Three blue texts on your screen with a little ‘delivered’ written under them were enough to let yourself know that he is busy. Atsumu has always been the man who gets too focused on his games, he was so passionate about volleyball forever. You knew it well and always supported him, from going after his games to sending the latest volleyball shoes on his birthday.

But today was different, or so you thought because it has been hours since you last texted. No, it has been since this morning you texted him a ‘ _hey’_ and ‘ _have you eaten?’_ to ‘ _when will you be back home?’_ You were not one to overthink about texting at all, and being with him has taught you a lot about patience. You wouldn’t bother to give him a call as well, because you know if he doesn’t even reply to your texts, then your call would just go straight up to voicemail.

A slight tap on your shoulder brought you back to your senses. Here you were, a little studio you used to come to every day with Semi back in your freshman year. It felt so nostalgic to see the same room didn’t change a lot within years, even the instruments were still the same. The little studio was one of the most affordable studios in Tokyo, and back in your days, getting money from part-time jobs to rent a studio was quite a handful.

You raised an eyebrow at Eita that was sitting beside you with a canned coffee in his hand. He offered another can for you, the mocha-flavored one. You smiled because he still knew your favorite until this day, because he still remembered your number, and because you got to play a keyboard again after years with a piano.

“Thanks.” You mumbled and opened the can. “You guys did great back there.”

“Mhm,” he shrugged and slurped his own coffee, stared on the roads in front of you. “We have been working hard on this debut. But something is missing.”

Waiting for him to continue, you locked your phone and put it back inside your pocket. Eventually, you gave up. _Maybe,_ he would just call you when he finished. You knew he was busy preparing for the Olympics, thus he always leaving early these past few days.

“We hadn't really thought about the lyrics,” Eita continued after a while, “Because we were an instrumental band—but now, they demand one from us. _Fucking sucks_.”

You chuckled at his rant. Just like the usual Eita, swears whenever he is stressed out. “Then why don't you ask someone to do it?” You suggested, focusing your gaze on the passing cars and traffic in front of the studio. The buzzing lights from the streets, the passing wind of autumn, and leaves from trees fell to the ground; what a perfect depiction of what autumn has offered this far. It was November, winter was chasing with a chilling breeze. You could feel your fingers gripped a little tighter around your coffee can like you were alternating something to it; maybe your feelings.

“That was what I'm about to do. Would you do it?”

You turned around in a few seconds, looked at Eita who was looking at you too. You let out a sigh, almost like you couldn’t believe what was before your ears. “No. I can't do that.”

“Why?”

 _Why, anyway, I wonder the same too_ , you thought. You glanced back to the passing cars in front of you. Somehow the wind got chiller than before. _Why? Why wouldn’t you write?_ Back in high school, you used to write lots of lyrics out of boredom. Your love for music wasn’t just for the instruments, but also the lyrics, the melodies, everything that revolves around it. You loved writing. So, why a _no_?

“I⎯” Somehow it felt like you got a lump in your throat. You had this perfect sentence inside your head, perfect reasoning to say no, but you just couldn’t let it out. Your chest tightened and memories rushed back to your mind.

Eita kept his eyes on your profile, silently, let yourself to express your words out. He didn’t expect you would say _yes_ right away, but not a straight _no_ as well.

“I,” you tried holding your breath for a moment, before continuing, “ _I lost my muse._ ”

⎯

You came home to a silent and cavernous night. There were no signs of Atsumu’s shoes on the racks, just like this morning, or this afternoon when you left. Your texts were all left unread as well, since twenty minutes ago you last checked, and that was when you decided to give yourself a little rest.

Tomorrow is a big day. _The second big dinner,_ you guys would name it, to mark it as another year to spend. _Almost_ two years. After knowing him since the third year of high school, dating him at your third year in bachelor’s degree, to now you are in your graduate school aspiring to take a master’s degree in music. He has always been there, beside you, just like you were always there for him through his ups and downs, through his triumphs and defeats.

As your steps brought you to your own room—you and Atsumu both agreed to have separate rooms since things may get a little bit messy, and to keep a line at privacy—you wondered about the answer you gave Eita back then. You lost your muse. _Who was your muse then? Why would you lose them?_

Your steps stopped. Rather than going back to your room, you went to the kitchen, opened the shelves to find a mug you usually use for coffee; the blue-hearted ornaments one, the one you used to tease Atsumu with since he lost from you by getting the pink one.

You glanced at his mug that was left untouched today. Seems like he didn't drink coffee this morning before he left. You tried to touch it with your fingertips, but stopped midway; something struck inside of you out of sudden.

It was like he has never been _here_.

You shook your head afterward, thinking it was stupid and doesn’t even make sense. Then your phone let out a ringtone of two text messages, and that was when you know he finally replied.

Tried to keep your cool, because you hate to admit that no texts from Atsumu all day may have driven you insane, you reached for your phone slowly.

Two texts in grey. The first one reads, ‘ _I had eaten outside_ ,’ and the second reads, ‘ _I may come home a little late today - don't wait for me.’_

 _Okay_ , that was what you thought, and locked your phone right away after reading. Not even letting yourself to reply for an actual ‘okay’ since something deep inside of you felt so _wrong_ , so _strange_ , so _distinct_. You didn’t know what to name it, so you proceeded to brew a cup of coffee to soothe yourself through the night.

But when the clock struck at midnight, your phone rang. The rain was pouring hard outside, you almost didn’t hear it if you put the ongoing Netflix’s volume louder than it was. You wondered who that might be, in this late hour, until the name of your _love_ popped out. It was unlike him to call at this hour though because you remembered some time ago he said he didn’t want to wake you up for something unnecessary at the late of night. So you thought, this one must be necessary.

“Hey,” his raspy voice echoed like strings in the guitar you used to play in a band. “Are you still awake?”

You put off the tv and went back to your room, in your usual silly-bear pajamas—he used to tease you a lot about it, calling how stupid you looked like, but in the end, he loved it anyway—and throw yourself on your bed. “Hm, yeah. Where are you?”

There were sounds of rain from his side on the call, so you assumed he was still out. He didn’t reply to yours right away though, so you added, “Did you bring an umbrella with you? It's raining outside, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” he replied shortly, and little did you realize, it created a hollowness inside your heart.

You realized a thing, though—since when he sounded so _distant_ over a phone call? But you were just being yourself, as usual, tried to shake off your thoughts with a sigh. You told yourself that _it’s okay, we were just busy, it’s okay—today is our anniversary._

“Hey⎯” Both of you coincidentally said the same thing, and you giggled at how funny it sounded. Seems like both you and Atsumu have a thing to say this midnight, 14th of November.

“Go ahead,” you said, putting your phone on speaker and went up to the window to see the rain dropped harder than before. But he was on pause as well, like trying to depict his own feelings into words, trying to get his point across without you feeling _hurt_.

“I will not come back today.” The wind outside didn’t slow, but it rattled at the glass of the window even harder, and you tried to find the answer in these little drops of rain.

 _Why?_ You wanted to ask, but you kept silent as your eyes wandered around the raindrops. You listened to the voice of rain that sounded more thudding than usual, like it was trying to break the chains surrounding your heart, tightening your chest in anxiety.

“ _I think we should break up_.”

⎯

It was autumn when you decided to put your heart on your sleeve and letting yourself finally fall unguarded, in the name of love, into the arms of a man you have longed for so long. It was summer after high school when you first met, during one of those summer training camps in Tokyo, and that was when you realize Atsumu Miya has always been an optimistic person—so much different from you.

It was winter when you first fought, _almost_ a year ago where you shouted at the end of your lungs out of _hurt_ and he left the house without even looking back to see if you were okay. It was spring coming before your eyes when you realized that you have been in love with him at some point in your life, and you definitely knew he could leave you at any time, but he _didn’t_.

The picture you had together for last Christmas in the capital side of Shibuya halted in your line of vision and you sighed, shaking as you clenched your hand at the surface of the window you were facing. The rain fell harder as if it was about to tell you that _it’s okay_ ; you weren’t even wary of your surroundings anymore as you felt so suffocated inside this big room of yours with Atsumu still on the line of your phone call.

The silence stayed for a while and you heard yourself breathing like you were gasping for air. Because in that second alone, you were still in a world where Atsumu is _yours_ and you, _his_. Every second filled between you passed like a crippled nightmare and hurricane. You really wished the pouring rain took control to answer instead, but then you found yourself laughing in defeat under your breath because you knew, _finally_ , after a few seasons together, he decided to _leave_.

You walked to the bed where you left your phone on and pulled it closer to your lips. “Okay,” you mumbled, half trembling, tried to pull yourself together in this dark of a room. You really wished you could say goodbye now, but then you were tongue-tied with yourself. No speck of tears coming out from your eyes, because in the back of your mind you knew this would have happened, _sooner or later_.

You couldn’t bother to give yourself an explanation from asking ‘why’ since you knew it would hurt you more than he already has. “Take care, Atsumu.”

 _Not even a fucking goodbye,_ because the word just sounded so bitter inside your mouth. You pressed the red button on your screen to end the call first and found yourself lying on your bed with sounds of rain collapsing in the background. _So pitiful_ , you thought, staring up at the ceiling with heaviness inside your chest. The more seconds passed, the more clenching it felt because you realized that the world you were living in was no longer has Atsumu in it; and even though you tried to convince yourself that _it’s okay_ , you found yourself crouching on the northside of the bed, trying to feel something. _Please let me cry_ , you begged, but nothing came out to wither your feelings away.

It was dark and the light faded away as the night strikes. The house suddenly felt too _empty_ and spacious, just like the void inside of you.

You have been so hurt in your life that you could not bother to drop a single tear from your eyes—and if something was about to torture you, it would be your ability to not crying after so many heartbreaks you have gone through.

⎯

In the morning, when the bell rang and somehow woken you up from another not-so-peaceful sleep, you realized something awful grew deeper inside of you. You had no idea what to call it and decided to pull yourself together to the door, this morning without another smell of freshly-baked pancakes, to see who was ringing your bell.

The door swayed open and a figure of a man you knew showed up right before you. Tall with shades of darker gray on his hair, a pair of stoic eyes with facial features that resemble the man of honor who just broke your heart last night. This wasn’t Atsumu.

“Hey,” he awkwardly greeted, tried to avert his eyes from your figure—you thought maybe because you just woke up and you looked so messy, _so broken_ , and not very presentable at all. But you didn’t care.

“Hey, what's up?” You tried to keep your voice as normal as ever, but what was coming out from your mouth sounded like a faint screech instead. Ashamed, you left your gaze to the damp ground outside from the rain before.

“I’m here to—uh, he asked me to pick up _his_ things.”

The uneasiness in his voice, the echoes of silence inside of you, and the autumn breeze on the morning slipped in between, and you convinced yourself again, _it’s okay._

“Sure. Go ahead.” You stepped aside and let Osamu in, “Basically all of his things are in his own room, but if there's any left, I'm gonna mail it to you.”

You couldn’t even bring yourself to say the name of _love_ you have been with for the past _two years_.

When Osamu stepped in, you realized that this was finally _it_. When his brother came to your house and picking up his things because he, _himself_ , unable to do so. _Maybe he is busy, so busy that he has no time,_ but another thought crept into you that maybe, _he isn’t ready to bring himself back home at all._

 _Back home?_ You sarcastically chuckled under your breath after the thought. You tried to make yourself look like you are in your own home, however, you couldn’t help but feel so small in your own personal space.

“I’m sorry.” Osamu chimed in from the room. The house wasn’t too big for you to hear what he said when you were in the kitchen, staring blankly at the bare walls in front of you.

“What for?”

“Everything.”

“You don't have to.” You brought yourself to smile a little, almost like deceiving yourself to see if you were really okay, but nothing was ever okay. “I know it was bound to happen anyway.”

When he no longer replied, you decided to help yourself with a cup of coffee to keep your mind at sanity. But it struck you after you saw another mug sitting right beside yours. _This is Atsumu’s_ , you glanced it over. You should have given it to Osamu right now, but _you didn’t_.

“Call me if you need anything, I’ll be upstairs.” You told him as your legs moved to the studio you own upstairs, the only personal space you really own in this house, because this was where you would put your feelings and fingers on ivories of the piano.

After you closed the door behind you, you let yourself leave a breathless sigh. You put the cup of coffee on the table beside, proceeded to sat on the piano bench. When he left and packed his things out, you realized that neither of _these was ever okay_. You were just lying to yourself all this time, ignoring the signs and atmosphere inside this little house of yours, thinking that this is normal for a couple to go under some cloudy days. But _no_ , this was it—the thought of you lying to yourself after all this time just struck like a sword ripping your heart apart, and no matter how hurt it felt, you just couldn’t let yourself cry.

Mornings turned into nights, into days, into weeks, and finally, winter approached right before you could shed a single tear out of regret and misery.

⎯

Despite accepting his _truth_ , you were still unable to put yourself in peace whenever you sleep at night. He haunted you in form of memories turned nightmares, and oftentimes you would find yourself woke up at 2 in the morning because your throat felt so dry it could make you whimper.

Autumn has passed rather quickly and the new year started with glistening snow fell down the pavements. Your fingers traced down the condensed window as if you could make a little doodle back when you were just a little girl. You loved to blow your breath during days like this, then made a random and stupid doodle of words or little clouds—sometimes, like most girls back in school, you would also draw flower petals and shapes of the heart.

But you were in your twenties now, and things like that stayed in the past behind you, so you would rather look for each of the snowflakes lying around the lonesome road outside. The neighborhood was quiet during winter; seemed like everybody went back to their own hometowns, leaving Tokyo and reality for a bit before returning to the same old routine. But unlike them, this was your _home_ , the only place you could return to. Not because you have a strained relationship with your family, it was because you just don’t talk anymore. Ever since your grandma passed away, you moved out of Osaka to Tokyo in your second year of high school. It was upon your father’s request because he believed no one was left to look out for you back in Osaka.

You sighed. Last winter, you spent your time with Atsumu Miya back in Hyogo to meet his parents. They were so loving and welcoming towards you that you felt so much at _peace_. After that, they sent you some frozen cuisines of Hyogo to your mail twice per month because you said _the foods were tasty_ and _would love to crave for more_ when you went back to Tokyo.

You snapped at your own thought. A familiar feeling of something blocking the airway in your throat came back and you knew this was no longer the reality you were in—it was impossible to _let go_. Because after the midnight of November 14, under the autumn rain in Tokyo, in throbbing echoes of Atsumu Miya’s voice through the phone, you found yourself were pushed to an edge that you felt nothing. _An infinite emotional numbness_.

Under the January’s snowfalls, you realized that neither of you was in love with the present now; you fell in love with what you _had_ with Atsumu—and he was in love with the _idea_ he built of you inside his mind.

In your serenity, you found an answer to a question that reiterated on the morning in November: _because people grow up and fall out of love, and that’s okay._

For the first time in a blue moon of no shed of tears, a drip of clear water trailed down your cheek, along with winds of snowfall.

You grabbed the phone you left hours ago on your nightstand. The contact name ‘Eita’ popped up with some texts under it; and finally, after so many nights passed thinking _why would you lost your muse_ , you sent him something.

‘ _Hey, is the offer still stands?_ ’

⎯


End file.
